there's all this light coming through the cracks.
worry makes you see things differently
and it's absence makes something new of the imperfect.
but it desires me in the worst way
singing me to shipwreck
caught between scenes
and it seems like an eternity
speeding up and slowing down
waiting for the line
waiting for the cue
waiting and ready...
and wondering if you're actually ready
don't overthink it.
but, one more time.
there is the right moment
and there's this terror that you just might miss it
so, in these moments, the trap door proves to be a lift...
and you're carried up higher and higher
bird's eye view.
i've forgotten it again
so focused on the cue, on the scene on that inciting moment and my performance
and obviously lack, thereof
that i've missed the big picture
i mean, i've lost the whole plot
sometimes the playwright needs to have a word
just take you up to the mezzanine floor
and remind you of why it was written in the first place...
and you sort of settle down and come alive
noticing all this light coming through the cracks